Broken Lullaby
by artemis-nz
Summary: Sometimes even broken people can be put back together again. But not alone. Yuki/Shuichi.


It wasn't the stress that set him off.

Sure, he had a deadline to meet. But what else was new? He was a writer, and one that got the teenage fan-girls moaning for more. He was used to it. It was a job. It put food on the table. Which was more important than it used to be, because Shindou Shuichi ate a lot, despite that skinny frame.

Shuichi told him often that he shouldn't smoke as much. It was bad for his health, it would only make the stress-thing worse... Shuichi could come up with a lot of reasons, some of them even original. Yuki didn't listen to him because he needed the cigarettes like Shuichi needed to sing. Sure, they weren't his life, but they were a part of him nonetheless. Take away the cigarettes, and Eiri Yuki would no longer exist. The thought made Yuki's lips turn up in an ironic smile.

Shuichi hated that smile. Sometimes he called it a smirk, but that was only when he wasn't paying close enough attention. A smirk actually had some life in it, some spark or other that made it what it was. Yuki's ironic smile was something more, while at the same time being considerably less than any other expression he could muster. Perhaps this was because it came so effortlessly.

The thing was, there was no signal before it came.

There was a deadline to meet.

There was always a deadline to meet. Yuki had gotten used to kicking Shuichi out of his study for it, and Shuichi had gotten used to being kicked out. It was all usually very harmonious no matter how loud the whining was on Shuichi's part, since it acquired a pattern after a while, and Yuki thrived on patterns.

There were cigarettes in the various ashtrays.

This was nothing uncommon even when the cigarettes piled on top of one another. Yuki loved to smoke and hated a mess, so there were always cigarettes in the ashtrays. Every so often Yuki or Shuichi got around to emptying them – the fact that they were full simply meant that neither had gotten around to it yet.

Yuki had been smiling for a while.

That might have been warning enough if Shuichi hadn't interpreted the ironic smile as a smirk. Still, even that didn't mean too much. Not when it happened so often. And if it did happen perhaps one too often in the space of a few days, then Yuki would hole himself up in his study an hour longer than usual and perhaps smoke a few more cigarettes than was normal. Or he would take himself off to the park if it was raining and cold. He got fresh air and didn't have to snap at anybody, so this usually worked quite well. Yuki tried not to do this often, however, since Shuichi once tried to cook when Yuki had gone out on one such evening.

It so happened, then, that Shuichi had no warning. Neither did Yuki. It was the computer crashing that probably set the whole thing off. It wasn't the cause, but it was the last straw for the writer, who had already been shut up in the study for nearly the entirety of the day, having gone out only once for a new pack of cigarettes. By the time Shuichi came home, Yuki had already begun to drink.

* * *

"Yuuuki! I'm hooome!" shouted Shuichi as he always did. There was no reply. Shuichi tried again. "Yuki?"

It was a little off, and Shuichi knew that something wasn't quite right. Not because he hadn't gotten a reply, but that no tapping of computer keys could be heard. There was only the ominous ticking of the clock, and then a muffled thump. Shuichi dropped his back where it was and ran.

"Yuki!"

"Mmm."

This was also muffled, and Shuichi entered the lounge, skidding to a stop by the couch. Yuki lay on top of it, sprawled out with one arm reaching the floor. There were beer cans on the floor, and Yuki was smiling.

"What... what are you doing? I don't-"

Suichi bit back his words, completely unable to finish the sentence. Because Eiri Yuki did not fall apart. Ever. But the person lying on the couch _was_ Yuki, _his_ Yuki. Shuichi found himself frightened at the realisation.

"I was just having a few drinks", said Yuki, voice calm. Perhaps his tone of voice might have been more defensive if he had more energy. As it was, the words came out very flat, like a toy that was winding down.

"What... Yuki, that's more than a few drinks!"

It was true; there were beer cans on the floor and the coffee table, as well as on the kitchen counter. Shuichi didn't want to count them.

"Don't you... I mean, should you be drinking if... this isn't like you at all. You always try to make a deadline-"

For some reason Yuki thought the phrase funny, because he raised his head a little and began to laugh, first quietly to himself and then louder, almost rudely.

"Deadline...!" he manged to say in between gasps. It didn't look to Shuichi as if he could stop, and Shuichi stood frozen, feeling powerless to do anything. Yuki gasped more and more, running out of air. Gradually the laughs became softer again, and his head drooped. There came a quiet pitter-patter of droplets hitting the carpet, and Shuichi looked down, seeing the growing patch of wetness.

"Don't... please don't cry, Yuki..."

But Yuki didn't stop, and neither did he look up at Shuichi. He only shook, and buried his head into the couch.

Shuichi took a tentative step forward, and then another, reaching the couch. He crouched down, placing a hand softly on Yuki's head. Yuki flinched away, but said nothing.

"Ssshhh, its okay, it'll be okay, Yuki, I promise..."

Shuichi had never tried to soothe anyone before other than small children; a child was one thing, but this grown man who cried with a desperation Shuichi had never heard before in his life was another. Shuichi muffled Yuki's screams in his shoulder, and knew that phrases like "it will be alright", and "everything will turn out fine" now had no meaning. But for Yuki, he would try anyway.

The clock kept ticking, but Shuichi didn't know how much time passed before he eventually got Yuki slumped into a sitting position. More time still passed as he convinced Yuki to get up and use Shuichi's own body for support. Once, Yuki would have snorted at displaying such weakness. Now, he put up no resistance as they walked this way to the bedroom. Yuki was silent.

"Better, now?"

Yuki looked up at him. He lay on his back, eyes open but a little glazed. Shuichi wondered how long it would be before he was sober again, or even if he understood what Shuichi had just said. But Yuki managed a tight nod anyway, and Shuichi let out a sigh.

"You're drunk."

Yuki didn't say anything.

"Do you think you're going to vomit?"

This time Yuki shook his head, and winced a little.

"No", he said, his voice gravelly. It sounded like he had already been sick, though Shuichi knew there was nothing physically wrong other than the drink.

"I can't give you any medicine. It might be too strong... I can get you water, though."

Yuki only closed his eyes at this, and when Shuichi came back with the water he was already asleep. Shuichi sat on the bed, running his hand across Yuki's forehead. There was no temperature, and Yuki wasn't shivering.

Shuichi lay down on the other side of Yuki, and resolved to be there when the writer woke up again, whenever that might be.

"Goodnight, Yuki."

There was no reply, but there didn't have to be.


End file.
